Legacy of Hate Read online

  Monterre hesitated a last time, turned to the door, and encountered Rachel, who was being marched in by two of Globus’s soldiers. She stared at him, blinking short-sightedly. She had been allowed to put on her pants and button her shirt, but was dishevelled and there were bruises on her face. She walked uncertainly; her arms were still confined behind her back, but now with handcuffs rather than rope. She also smelled highly of rotten fruit. She turned to face Franz. ‘That man attempted to rape me,’ she said in French.

  ‘What did I tell you, Herr Colonel?’ Monterre asked.

  ‘Yes, Monterre,’ Franz said wearily. ‘She looks done in, Globus. Take off those cuffs.’

  ‘Be careful, Herr Colonel,’ Monterre said. ‘She is trained in unarmed combat. She is a dangerous woman.’

  ‘I have said that you may go, Monterre. Kindly do so.’ Monterre hesitated a final moment, then left the room. Globus unlocked and removed the handcuffs. Rachel brought her arms round in front and rubbed her wrists with a sigh of relief. ‘I am sure you would like to sit down,’ Franz suggested. ‘Sergeant.’ Globus placed a straight chair before the desk and Rachel sank into it. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Has she any possessions?’

  ‘This bag, Herr Colonel.’ Globus held up the shoulder bag. Franz beckoned with one finger and the bag was placed on his desk. ‘Has anything been taken out?’

  ‘No, sir. You will see … ’

  ‘Monterre mentioned a weapon.’

  ‘This revolver, sir.’ Globus placed the gun beside the bag. ‘And we found these bullets in the bag.’

  ‘Very good. Thank you, Sergeant.’

  Like Monterre, Globus hesitated. ‘If she is an English agent, sir … ’

  ‘You think she will attack me? Will you attack me, mademoiselle? It is mademoiselle, is it not?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘And are you going to attack me?’

  Rachel licked her lips as she stared at him. ‘No.’

  ‘You see, Sergeant. You may go. Leave the door open. Eva,’ he called. ‘A glass of cognac.’ The three soldiers tramped out and Eva hurried in with the glass of brandy. ‘I think you will feel better if you drink that,’ Franz recommended.

  Rachel held the glass in both hands to disguise her shivering, and sipped. ‘I would feel better for a bath. Can’t you smell me?’

  ‘Then you shall have a bath. After we have talked a little.’ Franz emptied the contents of the bag on to the desk, flicked the bullets, picked out the identity card. ‘This says that your name is Brigitte Ferrand.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel said. She was actually feeling better for the brandy, even if she knew she was lost. But this man appeared to be a gentleman.

  ‘A schoolteacher. Monterre says these papers are false, that you are actually a British agent.’

  ‘Well, he would say something like that, after trying to rape me.’

  ‘A schoolteacher, armed with a gun?’

  ‘It is Monterre’s gun.’

  ‘And these cartridges?’ Rachel bit her lip. ‘And … ’ Franz sifted through the other items in the bag. ‘A capsule. I suppose it contains cyanide. It should have been in your mouth, mademoiselle. Although that would have been a shame: you are a very attractive woman. Now tell me the truth. I wish your name, the name of the agency you work for, and, most important, the whereabouts of the people you have come to see. The de Gruchys.’

  Rachel drew a deep breath. ‘My name is Brigitte Ferrand. I am a schoolteacher who had to leave Paris for personal reasons. I am working in a bakery in Vichy until I can obtain a new position. I was kidnapped from my bedroom by that beast, for reasons of sex. When I resisted him, he beat me up and drove me across the border. That is the truth.’

  Franz regarded h£r for some moments. Then he said, ‘I have just explained that I should have hated to be looking at your dead body. You may believe that I would like it even less, having to see you being tortured by the Gestapo. I think you should know that my superiors take the de Gruchys very seriously. This means that they take anyone who is connected to the de Gruchys, or who might be able to give us information as to their whereabouts, very seriously, too. I should tell you that the top Gestapo commander in France is on his way here now. He does not know you exist, as yet. But he is coming to take over the entire investigation into the death of Colonel Kessler. That means he will take you over as well, unless by the time he arrives — which I imagine will be this evening — you have told us everything we require, and certainly the whereabouts of Amalie de Gruchy. If you do that, I can save you from being interrogated. I may even be able to save your life and have you sent to a prison camp for the duration of the war. If you do have to die, I promise you that it will be quick and clean and painless. But your co-operation must begin now. Monterre tells me that your real name is Rachel Cartwright. Will you confirm that?’

  Rachel stared at him. This man is actually trying to help me, she thought. But all he can offer me is a quick death. And the interrogation would not end with a mere admittance of her name, rank and number, so to speak. She did not know what game Monterre was playing, but it did not appear as if he had told the Germans about Anatole. Once she started giving information, there was no telling what they might be able to drag out of her. Another deep breath.

  ‘My name is Brigitte Ferrand. I am a schoolteacher from Paris. 1 have never heard of anyone named de Gruchy. That man kidnapped me for sex, and when I refused him and fought him, he brought me here with this absurd story, to prevent me from having him arrested.’

  Franz had been staring at her as well. He continued to do so for several more seconds, then sighed. ‘Eva!’ he called.

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’ She stood in the doorway.

  ‘Is Globus still there?’

  ‘He is waiting outside, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘Send him in.’ He looked at Rachel. ‘This is your very last chance, mademoiselle.’

  ‘My name is Brigitte Ferrand, and I am a schoolteacher from Paris.’

  ‘Very good, mademoiselle. I am truly sorry. Globus, you will place Mademoiselle Cartwright in a cell until the arrival of Colonel Roess. She is. not to be ill treated, she will be fed three good meals a day, and given a half-bottle of wine with her lunch and dinner. Do you understand this?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘You promised me a bath,’ Rachel said.

  ‘So I did. Fraulein Cartwright is to be allowed to use the showers.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Globus’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘Under female supervision. And she is not to be touched.’ Globus gulped. ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘Very good. You will go with this man, mademoiselle.’ Rachel stood up. ‘I would like to thank you, sir.’

  ‘What for?'

  ‘For being a gentleman, sir.’

  ‘I have Pound Seventeen, sir.’ Jennifer was excited, even as she continued writing down the message conveyed by the clicking key.

  James waited, frowning as he watched her expression beginning to lose its animation. Then she signed off and raised her head. Never had he seen so stricken an expression. ‘Tell me.’ ‘Pound Seventeen reports that Pound Two has disappeared.’ 'You must have more.’

  ‘He says that she did not come in to work at the bakery this morning, and so he went to her lodging house, and she was not there. He looked into her room, and says there was no sign of a struggle, and her weapon and some personal effects were also missing.’

  ‘If there was no struggle and she has taken her gun with her, it seems pretty obvious she left of her own free will,’ James pointed out. ‘She must have got a lead on the Group.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ Jennifer did not look reassured. ‘Are we going to report to the brigadier?’

  ‘I don’t think that is necessary at this moment. Pound Seventeen is obviously a bit agitated. We’ll wait for Rachel to report in.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Suppose she doesn’t, sir?'

  ‘Jennifer, one of the most important things you have to learn about thi
s job is never to overreact. That almost inevitably leads to disaster. Rachel is-following a lead. She’ll get back to us just as soon as she can. Have we heard from Basle yet?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They have found someone who will do the job.’ She stared at him with enormous eyes. ‘Oh, sir … ’

  ‘Pour yourself a drink,’ he recommended. ‘And pour me one as well.’

  ‘Limoges is the next stop,’ Roess said. ‘Do you know, I have never actually stayed there.’

  ‘You mean to stay there now?’ Liane asked in consternation.

  ‘I thought I might, with you, for a day or two. I would like to see your home, meet your father, even if he is about to die.’

  ‘But you are booked through to Bordeaux.’

  ‘That is not a problem. I shall simply get off here and telephone Hoeppner to say that I shall be a day or two late.’

  ‘Ah … ’ Liane had been comfortably relaxed throughout the journey, confident that all her options were open. As Roess’s mistress, however basically uncomfortable that was, she was superbly placed both from the position of obtaining information and perhaps even harming the Reich, and she was sure she would be able to locate Amalie and find out what was going on and be back in Limoges in time for him to pick her up on the way home. She did not suppose his investigations were going to get him very far very quickly. While if she did not make it in time, well then, she would just have to disappear and leave him confused and fuming. But that plan had been based on his leaving her here and continuing on his way. Now she was suddenly skating on thin ice. Even if she had known anyone in Limoges who could play the part of her family — she dared not involve Anatole — there was no time to make any arrangements, for she did not suppose he was going to let her out of his sights. Desperately she tried to think. ‘1 really do not think you would enjoy that, Johann,’ she said. ‘We live in a ghastly slum. I am very ashamed of it.’

  ‘But that is terrible. We shall have to do something about that.’ The whistle whined as the train began to slow, and he got up and turned to lift their suitcases down from the rack.

  Liane stared at his back. For the second time in a week she was faced with an irrevocable and terrifying decision. Roess might be infatuated with her, but he was not a fool, and she knew him to be every bit as ruthless as herself. If they got off this train together, she was done for. As for the alternatives … Constance had accepted her as her sister. On the other hand, they had both agreed that they had lived apart for several years, and Constance could hardly be expected to know what her baby sister might have turned into in that time. She would just have to face it out, and join Roess in his condemnation of her.

  As always, her mind was made up in an instant, even as the pros and cons flitted through it. The safest thing would be to kill him, but that would also be fatal for her. She had no knife, and though she intended to take his gun, there were several other German officers on the train who would be instantly on alert at the sound of a shot. So she stood up behind him, drew a big breath, and, as he lifted the first suitcase down, she unfastened the holster on his belt, took out his Luger pistol, whipped off his cap — all in virtually the same movement — and hit him as hard as she could on the back of the head. His knees sagged and struck the edge of the seat, and she pushed him forward so that he fell on to it. He uttered a groan, so she hit him again. Blood dribbled down his neck. The suitcase had fallen under him. She dragged it out and lifted his legs on to the seat, stretching him out, then hastily lowered the window blind as the train came into the station. The corridor blind was already down, as he had been kissing and fondling her during the journey.

  She put the pistol in her shoulder bag, retrieved her own suitcase, much smaller and lighter than his, and stood above him as the brakes squealed. She could not be sure if he was breathing, so she put two fingers on his neck and found a pulse. She supposed she should hit him again, but he was so fond of her … Had been so fond of her. And what difference would it make? If she were ever caught, her fate would be the same whether he was there to administer it or not.

  The train stopped. Liane opened the door and stepped into the corridor, carrying her case. A guard appeared. ‘Oh, guard,’

  she said. ‘The colonel is resting and does not wish to be disturbed until you are approaching Bordeaux.’

  ‘Of course, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She made her way along the corridor, passed two compartments filled with German officers, who eyed her appreciatively, but offered no comment; they knew she had been travelling with Colonel Roess. There were only six people getting off, and four getting on. By the time Liane had crossed the platform and presented her travel pass, the train was already moving. She reckoned she had a few hours in hand.

  ‘Fraulein Jonsson is here, Herr Colonel,’ Eva said.

  Franz looked up. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Fraulein Jonsson, Heir Colonel. You remember … ’

  ‘I know who Fraulein Jonsson is, Eva. And you say she is here? HereT

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’ She was clearly mystified at his reacr tion.

  ‘In this office?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  ‘Show her in.’ He stood up. He had no idea what to expect.

  But Joanna was as soignee, as flawlessly and expensively dressed as ever, and, wearing her mink with a matching hat, looked in perfect health.

  ‘Hi, there! I’m not a ghost.’ She closed the door on an outraged Eva.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Joanna drew up a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve come to see you, Colonel. To help you.’

  Franz also sat down, slowly. ‘You have come here to see me? To help me? You are an American.’

  ‘Wrong. I am a Swede.’ Joanna delved into her handbag and took out her passport. ‘There we are.’ She laid it on his desk.

  He glanced at it, but did not open it. ‘Do you really think you can get away with that trick?’

  ‘It is not a trick, Franz. You don’t mind if I call you Franz, do you? And you must call me Joanna, as we are going to be working together. The situation is simply this: I have renounced my American citizenship, and am thus entirely a Swede. And as you know, I work for Oskar Weber. He has sent me down here to assist you in locating Amalie de Gruchy, and anyone else who may have survived the battle in the Massif Central. He feels I may be of importance in this business, because I know both Amalie and her family, and their habits.’

  ‘You. expect me to believe that?’

  Joanna opened her handbag again, took out Weber’s letter and laid it on the desk. This Franz picked up and scanned. Then he laid it down again.

  ‘So,’ Joanna said. ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘No. But I suppose I must accept Colonel Weber’s recommendation.’

  ‘Good boy. So, tell me what you have been able to discover. Up to the time I left Berlin two days ago it does not seem to have been very much.’

  ‘Whatever I have “discovered” is confidential.’

  ‘Would you like to read that letter again?’ Joanna’s voice remained quietly pleasant. ‘Oskar requests you to co-operate with me in every possible way.’

  Franz regarded her for several seconds, then shrugged. ‘We haven’t done too badly. We have, at this moment, an English agent in our cells.’

  Joanna frowned. ‘What has that got to do with finding Amalie de Gruchy?’

  ‘This woman was sent here to contact the de Gruchys.’

  ‘Did you say woman?’

  ‘A very attractive woman, at the moment. Unfortunately, she refuses to co-operate with us in any way, and so I am forced to hand her over to the Gestapo. And sadly, as you may know, Roess himself is also on his way here to assist me. I had expected him by now. He will certainly wish to get his claws into her. It is going to be very unpleasant.’

  Joanna’s brain was whirring. If the captured agent was a woman, it could only be Rachel. But what on earth had happened? ‘Surely London would be in touch with the de Gruchys by r
adio?’

  ‘That link appears to have broken down, probably because they are on the run. In fact, their entire organization seems to have broken down and is in the process of breaking up. This woman, her name is Rachel Cartwright … ’

  ‘She told you her name?’

  ‘No, no. She persists in trying to pretend that she is a French schoolteacher. But she was identified by a man who until recently was a member of the de Gruchy gang. He is a vile fellow, but he has some value. He has already identified another member of the gang, who has been executed. And he actually brought this Cartwright woman to us.’

  ‘Just like that? Does this traitorous virtuoso have a name?’

  ‘He calls himself Monterre.’

  Joanna kept her face impassive with an effort. Holy shit, she thought. Monterre had been with them in the cave. He hadn’t been at the entrance when she had shot Weber, but he could well have learned her part in that. And he certainly had to know that Liane had survived. Yet this rather pleasant man did not appear to know of that, or surely he would have mentioned it. ‘So where is this Monterre now?’

  ‘We have set him up with employment on a vegetable farm, and we have given him permission to cross the border as and when he likes.’

  ‘You mean you trust such a man?’

  ‘Not at all. But he is a magnet for those of the guerrillas who appear to have escaped the destruction of their camp. They contact him and he informs us. As long as he goes on doing that, we can use him.’

  ‘And what if, one day, he goes across the border, with your permission, and just doesn’t bother to come back?’

  ‘That is not a problem. We have his name and description, and the Vichy administration in Limoges is very anxious to keep on good terms with us. We can extradite him with a snap of our fingers.’

  Monterre would clearly have to be sorted out as soon as possible, but she would have to go slowly to discover exactly what the situation was, how much this man knew and was not telling her. ‘But he has not been able to deliver Amalie de Gruchy.’

  ‘He does not know where she is. As I have told you, he broke with her and her brother, before Colonel Kessler’s assassination.’